


only a doubles team

by impulsemomentum



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Not for long tho, Oblivious, Slow Build, Unrequited Love, can i still use this tag even tho it’s an rpf fandom????, i only write fan fiction at 2 in the morning, neither pierre and nico see what’s going on, ok maybe for a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsemomentum/pseuds/impulsemomentum
Summary: “The history of our team is that a few years ago, he was always having an eye on me since four or five years, I played him the first time in the final of a challenger, and I kick your ass, yes”- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, BNP Paribas Open 2016A love story of sorts, built around quotes and places.





	only a doubles team

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: everyone in here is real, but the way i portray them have NOTHING to do with the way they act in real life. i’m sure p2h and nico are very happy w their significant others and i’m not trying to bash anyone. 
> 
> all tournaments here actually happened and follow the timeline; trust me, i had to dig p deep lol
> 
> i need to stop pulling all nighters to write fanfiction when i should be studying for my test
> 
> this is heavily inspired by this video: https://youtu.be/L4DZ0btdmT0 and this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843487
> 
> last note: they’re all speaking french here. oh boy i rly hope vasek knows how to speak french

_“The history of our team is that a few years ago, he was always having an eye on me since four or five years, I played him the first time in the final of a challenger, and I kick your ass, yes”_  
_\- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, BNP Paribas Open 2016_

 _Orleans, France 2010_  
Nico blinks, lying on the ground of the locker room, clothes still sticky with sweat and faintly reeking of adrenaline left too long. He faintly registers Sebastien moving around him, packing his bags and towelling off his hair. Always so practical, Nico thinks, even after being beaten by a 19-year-old playing his second Challenger event ever. That unwelcome reminder jostles his mind again, and he can’t help but groan, rubbing a weary hand over his face.

The bags continue rustling for a few moments, then stop, and Nico hears soft footsteps padding across the carpet. “Cheer up,” Sebastien says, kneeling next to him and placing a warm, familiar hand on his shoulder. “It could have been worse. It went to a tiebreak, at least.”

“Uurrrfffghhh.” Nico turns over and mumbles into the carpet, then abruptly sat up, glaring at Sebastien even as his mind reminded him that it really wasn’t his fault; he was just trying to help. “That kid’s nineteen; nineteen! Second challenger event ever! Are you not even a little bit upset?”

Sebastien just looks at him, a corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “You do realise I retired from professional tennis seven months ago, yes? I really don’t have any reason to be upset.”

Nico opens his mouth to retort, then shuts it abruptly when he realises there’s really nothing he could say, and instead settles on glaring at Sebastien in what he hopes is a vaguely manly manner. Judging from Sebastien’s rapidly growing amusement, he definitely isn’t succeeding.

“You won the singles, yeah? One can’t ask for too much.” Sebastien smiles at him, the damn judicious bastard, and pats him on the shoulder before standing back up and shouldering his bags. “I’ll see you around.”

Nico stays rooted in his position, feeling panic bubbling in his chest. “I...Will I?” He can’t help but think of two nights ago, in the dingy hotel room, drunk off vodka and adrenaline, fumbling mouths and hands over each other’s bodies, and then the next day, full of stumbling apologies and the stark reminder of wives and children. Nico doesn’t think he can ever look Marie-Pierre in the face again.

Sebastien turns around, almost out the door, and quirks a small, sad smile. “I hope we do.”

Nico watches him leave, then sinks slowly back onto the floor, feeling a sob bubble up and get trapped in his throat.

As if to curse him, the sound of running water abruptly shuts off, and from the showers emerges the person that, at that precise moment, Nico would have given his entire prize money pool to avoid. The 19-year-old in question steps out, humming a French folk song under his breath as he runs his hand through his still-damp hair. Nico watches with impending doom as Herbert’s gaze drops slowly onto the ground, and right into Nico’s eyes, freezing immediately; Nico doesn’t think he’s wanted to die more than he has in that moment, not even during the thrice-be-damned Wimbledon match.

Nico is the first one to break. “Uh...good match today.” He awkwardly pulls himself off the floor, standing in front of Herbert with his hands hanging uselessly off to his sides. Vaguely, he registers that he should probably offer a handshake at the very least, but he stays rooted to the spot.

Herbert’s features break into a surprised grin, like sunshine peeking through stormy clouds, and Nico thinks helplessly, Jesus Christ, this kid is so young. “Thank you! It was so good to play against you, finally. I’m sure everyone’s talked to you about this, but your match at Wimbledon was amazing.”

He holds out his hand, and Nico stares at it for a few seconds before his brain catches up and he takes it, shaking it mechanically. “I...ah. Thank you. I don’t really mind all the Marathon Man comments as much anymore. Glad you watched the match?” The last sentence comes out more as a question, and Nico realises that his hand is still ensconced in an easy, friendly grip.

Herbert evidently comes to the same realisation, and retracts his hand, running it through his hair as a faint blush appears over his cheeks. “I’m, uh, I’m Pierre. Nice to meet you properly. Off the court, I mean. Um. Yeah. Nice to meet you.” Nico watches in horrified fascination as the blush darkens, and oh Christ, spreads all the way down. Did he mention Her-Pierre was only wearing a towel? Jesus.

“Nico.” Nico swallows, throat suddenly dry. “Nice to meet you too. Properly. I hope we see each other around more often.” He stubbornly squashes the sneering part of his mind that gleefully replayed his thoughts on seeing the young man again just a few moments ago, and pastes a probably horribly fake smile on his face.

Pierre either was completely oblivious to social cues or just decided on ignoring Nico’s constipated expression, and the sunshine smile makes another appearance. “Really? Yeah! I mean-uh, yeah, I hope so too.” He clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Right. Right, I, uh,” Nico fumbles around, seeing his shampoo sitting on a bench and desperately grabbing it. “I should probably go shower, yeah?”

Pierre’s blush returns in full force. “I, uh, yeah. Yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it.”

Nico exits the conversation in a totally sophisticated and elegant manner, as in he nods and walks past Pierre as fast as possible, turning on a random shower and completely soaking himself before realising that all he’d brought into the room was shampoo. Thankfully, when he returns outside, peering around the corner cautiously, Pierre is nowhere to be found.

Jesus.

——————————————————————————————————————————

_“He came to see me just last year, before I played well in Tokyo and everything, and for a long time he tells me you’re a good doubles player, last year he believed in me, he said let’s go, let’s do a year.”  
\- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, US Open 2015_

_St. Remy de Provence, France 2014_  
Four years later, Nico stares hard at the draw sheet, willing the words to morph right before his eyes, and lets out a long-suffering sigh.

HERBERT, Pierre-Hugues, the unforgiving black print reads, right underneath his name. No matter how many times Nico squints at the paper, or pokes at it, or blocks it out with his hand, the name remains, unchanging and looming.

It’s not that they’re on bad terms; rather, they’re on pretty good ones. They’ve crossed each other’s paths at tournaments after Orleans, and while they’ve never played each other after that fated meeting, they’ve exchanged numbers and hit with each other a couple of times. Thankfully, Pierre's grown out of the awkward teenager phase and finally becoming more comfortable in his own skin, but Nico still can’t seem to forget their first encounter; every time they meet, Nico remembers the locker room, remembers the clammy sweat on the back of his neck, the blush that traveled down Pierre’s chest. It’s been pretty okay as long as their interactions were strictly limited to bumping into each other in hallways and locker rooms, but facing him, in a real match, a semifinal no less...Nico lets his head drop onto the desk with a thump, feeling the air rush out of him in one fell swoop.

It’s 2 in the morning, but Virginie, bless her, picks up in three rings.

“I was wondering when you would call.” She says, sounding far too sensible for taking a call from her ex-husband at an ungodly hour (really, Nico thinks, he’s had a pretty consistent track record of being attracted to sensible, practical people), “I saw the results.”

If someone had asked Nico three years ago if he would still be on good terms with his wife after admitting to her that he was actually probably very gay and definitely not very suited for married-to-a-woman life, let alone still have her as his best friend, Nico would’ve probably laughed his face off. As it stands now, he’s pretty glad to have Virginie on his side.

“Not even a congratulations?” Nico smiles despite his current predicament. “I know it’s just a Challenger, but still.”

“Congratulations.” Nico thinks if Virginie's voice gets any dryer the phone may crack. “Now tell me what you’re gonna do when you play him.”

“I..” Nico hesitates, shifts a little in his chair. “We’re not great friends or anything. I doubt he cares.”

“Riiiiight.” She draws the word out. “You know I’ve been to your practices, yeah? The ones where you stare at his ass when he’s not looking and he practically starts drooling when you take your shirt off?” She still comes to his practices, because they've never officially announced their divorce, and for the small percentage of the population that cares about Nico's relationship status, it seemed pretty simple to just let people assume what they wanted to. “Honestly, Nico, just text him. I’m sure he’s going through the same thing you are.”

Nico huffs at her more just for the sake of getting the last word in, but reluctantly concedes and hangs up with some “love you”s. He stares at the blank screen of his phone, and opens his messaging app before he can hesitate.

NICO: good match today. played well against a tough opponent

It’s 2:24 in the morning. Pierre responds within a minute.

PIERROT: nico!!!! merci :D excited to play against u ;)

Nico sighs. Still just as young. He very specifically doesn’t think about the 9 year age gap.

NICO: first time, yeah? exciting :-)

PIERROT: very!!

PIERROT: why do u add a nose to ur smiley faces? looks weird

NICO: ...good night

PIERROT: :(

Nico sighs, putting the phone away even though he has no intention of going to sleep any time soon. He bites his lip, considering the possible ramifications of the action, and then throws it all out the window and shoves a hand down his pants, very determinedly not thinking about stupidly young tennis players with wide brown eyes and sunshine smiles.

Later, after a lingering hug at the net at 6-4, 6-4, Nico leans on the frame of the locker room door as Pierre emerges from the showers, hair still dripping, and says before he can regret it, “wanna play doubles?”

Pierre's eyes are very wide.

Jesus.

——————————————————————————————————————————

_“We became friends, and we are enjoying the life on court and off court.”  
\- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, Australian Open 2015_

_Melbourne, Australia 2015_  
When Nico returns from sponsor duties, Pierre is sprawled luxuriously across the couch in their shared suite, an arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes. Nico's mouth abruptly goes a little bit dry, and he thinks to blame Australia's topsy-turvy weather.

“Tough loss.” Nico acknowledges, plopping down on the leg of the sofa, and Pierre jumps, flinging his arm away in surprise and almost whacking Nico in the stomach.

“Sorry, sorry!” He exclaims, manoeuvring himself into a more normal position, to Nico's faint disappointment. “You saw?”

Nico's mouth quirks up of its own accord. Traitor. “Some parts, yes. You did well.”

This seems to trigger something in Pierre, and he falls dramatically back on the couch, bemoaning his every little flaw.

“Hey hey,” Nico interrupts, placing a placating hand on Pierre's arm. “I didn’t do that well either, did I?”

That makes Pierre pause, looking up at Nico guiltily. Nico seems to have swallowed butterflies. “I..yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Nico smiles at him because he just can’t help it. God, Pierre's still so young. “Want to go out for dinner? To commiserate our dying singles careers.”

Pierre laughs, and somehow that’s even better than the sunshine smile. “Yes! To only being labelled doubles specialists from now on.”

They end up going to an intimate restaurant complete with mood lighting and flickering candles. Nico watches Pierre's throat flex as he swallows, the way his face is framed in the soft lighting when he does his sunshine smile, and realises that he might be just a little bit fucked.

He drinks way too much wine to get those images off of his mind, and when they finish dinner, he’s already enveloped in the hazy glow of being tipsy, smiling a little too much and leaning too close to Pierre. Pierre doesn’t seem to mind, laughing as they walk back to the hotel, bumping shoulders. Nico's hand brushes against his once, and Nico feels a spark tingle and travel all the way up his arm, wedging its way into his heart.

“I had a really great time today.” Pierre says softly, under the dim glow of the lamp, later that night. Nico's half-drunk cup of water lies on the table, forgotten, and the faint noise of some reality TV show is on in the background.

Nico thinks he might be going crazy, but Pierre's features look so soft, and his eyes are so impossibly wide. They’re sitting way too close to each other, Nico realises too late. Their thighs are touching and Nico feels like the heat being transferred is almost too much, almost unbearable in its intensity. He swallows hard, and turns to look at Pierre. From this distance, he can see the faint beginnings of stubble, the little moles dotting his face. For one single, crazy moment, Nico imagines himself leaning in slowly, bridging the gap and bringing those perfect lips to his, to hold Pierre's face in his hands and run them through his hair. Then, a contestant on the reality show says something especially loud, and both of them jump back, effectively ending the moment.

Pierre has that goddamned blush again, Nico notices. He very determinedly does not think about where it travels.

Pierre clears his throat. “I, um, I think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Yeah.” Nico's voice is raspy. He swallows and tries again. “Yeah, practice tomorrow.”

Pierre nods, then stands up and wanders to his bed. Nico faintly sees a reluctance in those steps, before firmly dismissing his overactive imagination.

He ends up shutting himself in their bathroom, turning the shower on maximum, and leans against the cool tiles, He bites his fist as he pumps himself hard and fast, Pierre's name on his tongue as he comes.

When he finishes getting ready and climbs softly into the bed beside Pierre's, the younger man is already asleep, softly snuffling. Nico watches the lengthening shadows that frame his dark lashes against his face, and bites back a curse.

Jesus.

——————————————————————————————————————————

_“If I don’t do it, then it’s not valid for a first speech. So I have to sing.”  
\- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, Davis Cup 2015_

_London, Great Britain 2015_  
“So that’s who you’ve been swooning over lately?” Jo leans over and smirks at Nico, watching Pierre nervously make his way to the podium. Nico rolls his eyes at him, checking to make sure no cameras are on him before cheerfully flipping him off.

Nico really didn't think Pierre could be more nervous that that day in Orleans, but today is really proving him wrong. Pierre stumbles through the opening lines, forgetting English words he can usually say in his sleep, but gets the point across eventually. Nico shrugs off his jacket, grinning as he prepares his cell phone for a recording.

He’s always known that Pierre was good at singing; he’s overheard him humming multiple times, and sometimes he pretends he doesn’t hear the soft strumming of guitar chords and an even softer voice coming from the next room over so as not to embarrass the younger man. There’s no such consideration today; Nico stands up, cell phone held at the ready as Pierre's opens his mouth.

He almost sits back down in shock.

Hearing it muffled across a wall is one thing, but. Jesus. Pierre's voice is perfect, honeyed pitch and sweet yet handsome tone, and Nico is absolutely enthralled. He just takes in Pierre's presence on the podium, and everything else is drowned out except for Pierre. Pierre Pierre Pierre. He’s so enamoured that he sings the backgrounds almost automatically, and misses Jo's exaggerated swooning faces entirely.

When Pierre makes his way to their table amidst good natured teasing, his face is flushed again, and his top button is undone. Nico's throat goes dry as he sees the warmth travel and disappear under the fabric.

Jo elbows him in the side. “You’re being way too obvious, old man.” He hisses out of the side of his mouth, and Nico kicks him in the shin under the table in retaliation.

“I guess all those days of practicing in hotel rooms paid off?” Nico teases, rising up to envelop Pierre in a hug. His body is almost too warm, and Nico forces himself to think about old wrinkly grandmas to redirect his blood flow.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have made that comment, because Pierre's blush darkens impossibly, and his eyes widen. “You heard all those? Nico!”

Nico can’t resist sticking his tongue out at him, being a 33-year-old man be damned. “And now I have video evidence of you. Too bad, mon petit Pierrot.”

Pierre slaps him on the shoulder, and Nico yelps dramatically, rubbing it as he turns to Yannick with an exaggerated pained expression, crying abuse. Yannick just rolls his eyes and him, and Pierre laughs for real this time. Nico can’t help but smile back at him, the corner of his eyes crinkling, because this is where he wants to be, representing his country with Pierre, who’s so young and so free.

Nico's in love.

Jesus.

——————————————————————————————————————————

_“We had fun actually. We just had fun on the court.”  
\- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, US Open 2015_

_New York, USA 2015_  
Pierre hits the last volley straight between Murray and Peers, and Nico watches it fly past them, hears the crowd roaring, and he can’t do anything but fall to the ground, covering his face.

Through the roaring of the crowd and the din in his own head, he registers hands tugging at his arms, Pierre shouting his name over and over. He removes his hands, and stares up at Pierre's face, so close to his. He’s dripping with sweat, and some tears, but he’s so happy, looking at Nico with the biggest sunshine smile he’s ever seen, and tugging repeatedly at him. Nico lets him, and Pierre hugs him tight. Nico suddenly can’t breath because his heart has started pumping at double the speed it was before.

The rest of the day is a blur. Nico remembers interview after interview, so many congratulations and handshakes and signatures that they all blend together into one vague wave of excitement, all centred on the warm, steady presence of Pierre next to him, answering all the english questions as Nico plays with the tablecloth and gnaws on his fingernails.

As quickly as it started, it seemed to end, and it was just Pierre and Nico left standing in the fading sunset, staring at each other. Pierre's eyes are still so very wide, and Nico can’t help himself. He brings the younger man to him in a crushing hug, dropping his head on his shoulder. Pierre's arms wrap around him just as tight, and they sob into each other, so happy and so overwhelmed.

Nico feels like this is the moment. This is the moment where he can just tilt Pierre's head up and kiss him, right here in the dying sunlight, and finally know what it’s like. He pulls away from Pierre and stares right into those eyes, lashes clumped together by tears, and feels an overwhelming rush of emotions. Pierre stares back haplessly, and Nico prepares to lean in, watching Pierre's eyes flutter shut.

“Pierre!” Nico and Pierre immediately spring apart almost guiltily, and stare wide-eyed at the approaching entourage. Virginie is there, alongside both of their parents, Pierre's sister, and a blonde woman. Nico quickly identifies the source of the voice as the unfamiliar woman, who springs forward, throwing herself at Pierre and.

Kisses him.

Nico feels like someone just dropped a bomb into his insides. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling as he watches Pierre place his hands around her hip, kissing back enthusiastically. He vaguely registers Virginie stepping up beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm as if he might break if she touched too hard.

Pierre breaks apart from the kiss first, and stares lovingly down at her before turning to Nico, smiling embarrassedly. Nico has never been so unhappy to see him flush before.

“Nico, this is my girlfriend, Julia. I don’t think you’ve met?” Nico steps forward to take Julia's hand on autopilot, dropping a kiss on the back of it to hide his thunderstruck expression.

Virginie, God bless her, saves Nico from any further embarrassment. “I see you’ve met Nicolas.” She smiles and drops kisses on both her cheeks. “You and Pierre are so adorable. Pierre's never introduced you to us properly before.”

Nico watches his ex-wife make polite conversation with the girlfriend of the man he was just about to kiss, and feels like his whole body has been dumped in ice.

Jesus.

——————————————————————————————————————————

 _“I think we are close, but not as close as you mentioned in the question.”_  
_\- Pierre-Hugues Herbert, Davis Cup 2017_  
_“We’re pretty close, but he’s right, it’s good to mention it, because sometimes I think we’re a little bit more than a doubles team, but we’re only a doubles team.”_  
_\- Nicolas Mahut, Davis Cup 2017_

 _Rotterdam, Netherlands 2016_  
The last half of the year has been.

Well.

Nico thinks terrible would be an appropriate descriptor.

Of course, on court, everything continues to run somewhat smoothly. After the glory of the US Open, everything seemed to slow down a bit for the last remaining months of the season. They don’t win any more titles, but do make it in the World Tour Finals, even if they don’t even make it out of the round robin.

Nico spends most of the off season with Virginie by his side, and drinks a lot of cocktails by the beach for the first week and feels numb on the inside. He resolutely doesn’t think about where Pierre is, what he’s doing, and especially not who he’s with, though his Instagram makes it abundantly clear. When they do get together for training, Nico remains perfectly polite and even manages to smile at Julia sometimes, who has tagged along and is apparently starting an Instagram account about WAGs on tour. He doesn’t look Pierre in the eye, and remains perfectly out of touching distance.

He doesn’t see Pierre's sunshine smile anymore. He thinks, a little spitefully, that his girlfriend doesn’t either. It’s true; Pierre has spent the last quarter of the season split between acting lovey-dovey with his girlfriend and frowning after Nico, even though Nico keeps insisting that everything’s totally fine, thank you very much.

He’s very much not fine, but, well. He’ll take what he can get.

The offseason is where everything spirals a little bit out of control. Nico finds their easy friendship harder to replicate, both off court and on, and finds himself missing calls or not moving with Pierre. When the season starts, they find themselves incredibly off-sync, unable to communicate with each other.

They go out of the Australian Open in the second round.

Nico sees Julia frowning in the stands after they’ve shaken hands with the two Pablos, and grits his teeth so hard he might break a couple. He leaves the court as soon as is humanly polite, and sits through the press conference an arms length away from Pierre, ignoring his worried glances.

Later, Pierre grabs his arm while Nico's halfway out of the door of the locker room, and Nico absolutely ignores the chills that sends up his body.

“What’s wrong?” Pierre demands. Time has shaped him. He’s no longer the young, innocent boy Nico knew; he’s not afraid anymore, nor shy. He’s almost 26 now, Nico reminds himself. He’s 36 now, still too old, too ugly, too male.

Nico steels himself, and shakes Pierre's arm off. He turns around, and his heart clenches painfully when he sees Pierre standing in front of him, one arm still outstretched, looking like he’s about to cry. Nico swallows, and it feels like there are glass shards embedded in his throat.

“Look, I just.” Nico can’t bring himself to look Pierre in the eye. “I think I just need to play some tournaments on my own. I’ve been feeling...stifled lately.” He tries not to cry when he hears Pierre let out a whooshing breath that physically sounded like it hurt.

“I don’t understand.” Pierre's voice cracks desperately on the last syllable, and Nico forces himself to look up, to look at those pained eyes and tell himself that look, this is how shitty of a person you are. “We were so good at the US Open, and then after you seemed so...distant. Why? What did I do?”

“I...” Nico shakes his head, looking down at the carpeted floor. “I just need some time alone. Please.”

“I...okay.” Pierre's voice is so quiet, and Nico can feel him slump over in defeat. “Just tell me when you’re ready to come back. I’ll always be waiting.”

“I...hope you will.” Nico forcibly swallows around the lump in his throat. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.” Pierre says quietly. “See you. Good luck.”

Later that night, Nico picks up his phone in the middle of his bottle of vodka to see a flood of messages on his screen.

VIRGINIE: nico u idiot. call me right now.

GAEL: ??? y is virginie so stressed she asked me to txt u. do u want cat photos to send 2 her?

JO: nico i didn’t know someone could mess up this bad. he’s crying on my couch. u idiot.

GILLOU: Jesus fuck Nico. Sort this out. You think we’re all blind?

JULIEN: nico.

VASEK: hey, how’s your schedule looking for the next couple weeks? :-)

Nico really can’t deal with all the ways he’s fucked up today, so he swipes on Vasek's message instead.

NICOLAS: i’m free. are you looking to play doubles?

VASEK: yea...i thought u were playing w p2h ? ?

NICOLAS: change of plans. do you have a partner for rotterdam?

VASEK: woah. um. no? u want to be my partner for a 500?????

NICOLAS: i don’t see why not?

VASEK: shit okok omg. i’ll sign us up :D

NICOLAS: thank you. i’ll play montpellier and then join you.

VASEK: cant wait ;-)

Vasek is really too obvious for his own good, but Nico doesn’t care; he needs some stress relief anyway.

He loses his first match in Montpellier, and doesn’t feel too guilty when he texts Vasek he’s on his way and receives a string of smiley emojis.

Playing with Vasek is...really good. It's not the same as playing with Pierre, nothing will ever compare to the way they move on court and communicate, but Vasek is a different experience. He’s young (no, not young, the same age as Pierre, Nico reminds himself), and throws himself blindly after Nico's every call. He laughs at all of Nico's jokes, even the ones that aren’t funny, and lights up at every compliment he receives. Nico still refuses to feel guilty, even after the draws come out and people begin to question the sudden change in partnership. He responds to his friends with meaningless platitudes and calls Virginie to assure her he just needs some time.

Pierre doesn’t call. Nico doesn’t either.

In the mean time, Vasek and Nico fly through Rotterdam, leaving opponent after opponent in their wake. Before they know it, they’re hoisting the trophy above their heads, and Vasek's grin is almost like the sunshine smile. Nico makes himself grin back and look happy to have won this title with him and him only.

After the interviews and autographs, Vasek turns his head to Nico and whispers, “come to my room?”

Nico really did see this coming, but he doesn’t care. He says yes.

Vasek wastes no time. When Nico pushes open the slightly ajar door to his suite, Vasek is already naked, stretched out luxuriously on the bed, one hand pumping slowly. He makes eye contact with Nico, smirking, and Nico feels so wrong but so right at the same time.

He climbs on the bed and kisses Vasek with his eyes closed so he can pretend it’s Pierre. Vasek hands him lube and a condom, other hand still lazily moving, and Nico takes that hand and pins it on the bed. Vasek's eyes immediately darken, and Nico feels his face twist into a grin that makes Vasek shiver. He takes his time with preparation, fingers curling expertly to find the spot in Vasek that makes him keen, back arching off of the bed.

“Please...please..” By the end of it, Nico is three fingers deep in Vasek and he's writhing, so close to the edge, yet needing so much more. “Please, Nico...”

“Please what?” Nico leans down and sucks a dark bruise right where Vasek's neck meets his shoulder, and Vasek moans, tightening around Nico's fingers. He pants, “please fuck me, Nico, please please please, please fuck me..”

Vasek is barely coherent at this point, so Nico withdraws his fingers to a loud protest from Vasek, and rolls the condom onto himself. He’s hard, something that he ignored while he was preparing Vasek, and now he satisfies himself fully. Both Vasek and Nico gasp as Nico's head squeezes past the tight ring of muscle, and Vasek convulses around him, mumbling incoherent words. Nico drops his head to the crook of Vasek's neck again as he begins to move, slowly at first, but gradually increasing in intensity as he rediscovers the sweet spot from earlier.

Vasek trembles with every thrust, almost meowing like a kitten, and Nico resolutely blocks everything from his mind but the person in front of him. He draws out all the way, then slams in rapidly, and Vasek screams, cum splattering over his chest, having come untouched. Nico keeps thrusting, and soon comes too, growling into his neck.

After Nico cleans them both up cursorily, because Vasek is barely able to even keep his eyes open, he gets into bed with him, despite every single brain cell of his telling him that this was a bad idea, and turns off the lights. He dreams of Pierre, and wakes up rock hard. Vasek rolls over and blows him, and he comes, still thinking of Pierre.

Jesus.

——————————————————————————————————————————

_“It was a really good match, I think, from both sides, and we're really happy to be the ones to win this one.”  
Pierre-Hugues Herbert, BNP Paribas Open, 2016_

_California, USA 2016_  
“You idiot.” Virginie hisses over the phone, and Nico can’t help himself but flinch, because the venom in those two words could probably melt his phone and end the call, and then Virginie would get even madder at him. “Vasek? Really?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nico hums. He’s currently in Marseilles, playing another tournament he could care less about just so he doesn’t have to think about Pierre. “We had a great run as doubles partners.”

“Yeah. Doubles partners.” Virginie's sarcasm is somehow worse than her anger. Nico flinches again. “The pictures of that hickey are everywhere. Please for the love of God at least tell me you didn’t do it so Pierre would see.”

Nico hesitates a little too long, and Virginie pounces. “ARE YOU SERIOUS? NICO, I CAN'T BELIE-”

“Wait wait wait no,” Nico interjects hurriedly before his head is blown off by the sheer decibels Virginie is producing. “look, it was just one time, we both blew off some tension after the stress in Rotterdam, now we're still friends.” It was partially true; they’re still friends - who fuck - but Nico leaves that out for the safety of both him and Vasek.

Virginie sighs, clearly not believing him but too tired to fight him on the subject. “Just. At least get in touch with him, won’t you?”

“...I will. I promise.” Nico's pretty embarrassed about the way he acted; now that he thinks about it, there’s no reason that a stupid little unrequited crush should get in the way of his career, and Pierre is what his career needs, after all. “I’ll go apologise.”

After he hangs up, he takes two breaths and three swigs bourbon, and dials Pierre.

“Hello?” Pierre sounds carefully distant. Nico doesn’t blame him.

“Pierre.” Nico hesitates. “I just wanted to...apologise. I don’t know what was wrong with me the past month. I don’t even have an excuse. I’m sorry I just walked out on you like that.”

Pierre is silent on the line for a long time. That’s why Nico is knocked so off-balance when the next sentence comes. “I broke up with Julia.”

Nico chokes on his own spit. “What? Pierre? I thought you two were so good together?” He’s proud of himself for being able to say that sentence without wanting to die too much.

“I want to talk about this in person.” Pierre still sounds so distant, and Nico suddenly worries. “Will you play Indian Wells with me, at least?” He sounds a little bitter, but Nico’ll give him that one.

“Yes, yes, of course if you’ll still have me,” Nico says in a rush. “Vasek is playing with Sock anyway.”

“Pospisil? Good.” Pierre's tone instantly darkens. Nico wonders; did Pierre want a Rotterdam title? He didn’t play it at all, so there’s no reason why he would be so upset. “I'll see you in Indian Wells after Marseilles?” Nico feels strangely touched that he actually kept tabs on his schedule.

“Of course.” Nico agrees easily, feeling a weight lift off of his chest. “See you then, partner.”

Nico will never admit to anyone that losing early in Marseilles was a little bit motivated by the prospect of seeing Pierre.

Pierre picks up Nico at the airport when he lands, and immediately pulls him into a hug, to Nico's surprise. He eventually decides to just laugh it off and ignore the warmth emanating from his body. He says quietly into Pierre's shoulder, “good to see you again, Pierrot,” and feels the vibrations of Pierre's soft laughter.

They go straight to the hotel room from the airport, and Pierre tells him on the drive over that he’s already booked the room, but he sounds strangely apprehensive. Does he feel that spending time together after the last month will be weird? Nico wonders, but the conversation between them flows as if the last month never happened. They don’t talk about Julia, though; every time Nico asks, Pierre redirects, and eventually Nico just sticks to safer topics, like the Bergamot challenger.

When they get to the hotel, Nico sees why Pierre is so apprehensive: there’s only one bed. Nico guesses that maybe the breakup with Julia was rather recent.

“I can sleep on the couch?” Nico offers. “Or the floor. As long as I get blankets and a pillow or two I’m good.”

Pierre's mouth tightens. “No.” Now Nico's really confused.

“Pierre?” Nico frowns, stepping forward and letting the hotel door close behind him.

Pierre slams him back against the door and kisses him. He tangles his fingers into Nico's Lacoste polo and pulls him flush against him, crushing their mouths together. Nico gasps against Pierre's mouth, and Pierre smothers it, tongue seeking entry into Nico's mouth, which eagerly grants it. Nico doesn’t know where to put his hands, and eventually just decides on everywhere, grasping at Pierre's back, and then shoulders, and then pulling at his hair. The last one draws a growl out of Pierre, who pulls back and looks at Nico, eyes slanted and pupils dilated.

“Oh.” Nico says breathlessly. A lot of things click into place. “That makes...a lot of sense.” Later, Pierre would tell him all about how Virginie and the rest of the French legion staged an intervention, how he finally realised what he was forcing himself to ignore, but for now..

He doesn’t even realise he’s unconsciously humping Pierre's thigh until Pierre groans, head falling against his shoulder. He realises Pierre is shaking, and immediately grows alarmed before he realises that he’s actually laughing.

“Pierre?” Nico asks hesitantly, one hand still cupping the base of Pierre's neck. Pierre looks up, and oh, the sunshine smile is back.

“I can’t believe it took me so long to realise,” Pierre's laughing softly, “I was so blind, I couldn’t even see who you were to me.”

Nico suddenly loses what little breath he had before. “Pierre?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were in love with me until now, because I’m in love with you too.” Pierre looks him straight in the eye, and Nico suddenly feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Actually, Nico feels like he could probably lift any weight with his shoulders. He feels like he could do literally anything.

As it stands, all he does is laugh. He laughs, and cups Pierre's face with his hands, and brings their foreheads together until they’re touching, saying small, broken phrases like “I love you so much” and “it took you so long” and “I’m so sorry”. He finally fulfils his fantasy, all the way back in 2015, as he brings Pierre's lips to his own, automatically opening his mouth to fit around Pierre's. Pierre moans into the kiss, and Nico has to focus to not immediately resume his humping.

“Bed. Now.” When they finally break apart, gasping for air, Nico pulls Pierre to the bed immediately, Pierre laughing and trailing behind him.

“Tell me,” Pierre whispers, taking off his shirt as Nico unzips his jeans. “Tell me want you want.”

Nico feels a little bit more like he can’t breath. “I want you to fuck me.”

Pierre's eyes darken immediately, and he pushes Nico onto the bed, almost ripping his jeans off. “I’ve been learning,” he says, nuzzling into the crook of Nico's neck. “just for you. Can I leave a mark here?”

Nico laughs breathlessly, wondering how on Earth he’s possibly been learning. “You don’t need to mark your territory. I’ve always been yours.” He hears a sharp intake of breath from Pierre, and grins smugly. “You don’t need to worry about Vasek.”

“Don’t.” Pierre's tone is full of warning. “Talk to me about Pospisil right now. I might break him.”

Nico raises an eyebrow, but the effect is ruined when Pierre's mouth closes around the soft cotton bulge in his boxers, and he lets out a moan. “Is..ahhh...is someone jealous?”

Pierre lifts his head to glare at him and pull his boxers down. “You keep going, and I might have to punish you.” Nico's dick seems very interested at such a prospect, and Nico files that silently away onto a new folder in his brain labelled “things Pierre wants to do” to save for later. For now, he simply says, closing a hand around his dick, “how about you fuck me right now and we can talk about that later?”

Pierre is more than happy to oblige.

“Jesus,” says Nico after he comes, trying to get the white spots out from his vision, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Pierre collapses next to him, laughing breathlessly. “My name's Pierre, actually.”

It’s really no wonder, at this point, that they win Indian Wells.

When they shake hands at the net, Pierre aims a gaze at Vasek so cold that Nico bets could probably reverse global warming on its own, but all Vasek does is grin at him and offer congratulations that mean a lot more than just the match.

Nico is so unbelievably, irrevocably happy.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know things i could improve on, things you liked, things that were weird, etc etc :-) hope u enjoyed and pls leave a comment!! i love Attention


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